


Fear

by Colaris



Category: Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Fear, M/M, toxin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28344759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colaris/pseuds/Colaris
Summary: Edward made Jonathan angry in a small argument and is paying the very high price in dealing with a mastermind of using fear. Fear toxin inculded and detailed deciptions of abuse.
Relationships: Edward Nygma & Jonathan Crane
Kudos: 8
Collections: A crow finds a riddle in the dark





	Fear

The little stone flew across the narrow side street, at the end hit an already badly battered street sign. The red paint peeled off the struck spot, slowly trickling down onto the rough asphalt. Edward's face darkened. He slowly crossed his arms over his chest and snorted in a touch of anger. Sometimes living with the former psychiatrist was anything but easy. Not that the Riddler didn't appreciate the verbal arguments they had, but when things really got intense and down to business, the outcome of the situation was never predictable. In summary it was often way too dangerous. Jonathan had a lot of patience and getting him to the point where he lost his temper was difficult, but by no means impossible for the stubborn tinkerer. At least the thin man came close to his own superior intellect and could articulate himself appropriately. Nevertheless, the black-haired man had actually gone a step too far that afternoon. They had actually discussed a very mundane topic: compulsions and anxiety disorders. The conversation went on until Edward dared to get personal and blatantly accuse the elder of having no foresight through his religious upbringing. That statement pushed the Master of Fear over his limits. The inventor put two fingers to his forehead and began to massage the skin firmly. If Jonathan Crane asked his counterpart with remarkable friendliness to leave the room as quickly as possible, one was well served to comply quickly with this request without replying. A good two hours had passed since that incident. The Riddler glanced at his black watch and clicked his tongue. The former psychiatrist had probably calmed down enough by now not to choke him to death when entering the apartment. To be honest, the man was getting cold in the icy December air. In addition, twilight began visibly in the dirty city. Edward circled his shoulder briefly and strolled a bit absent-mindedly through the adjacent city park, quietly rehearsing appropriate greetings to Jonathan after such an escalated argument. Suddenly an animal ran at his feet, remained calm in the middle of the snow-covered path. The white rabbit stood on its hind legs, turned its head back and forth nervously, then suddenly looked the Riddler straight in the eyes. The black-haired man stopped dead in track, staring lost in the dark eyes of the furball. He couldn't help but admire the beauty of the animal and after a while a small smile settled on his thin lips. Without any warning, a bird of prey suddenly fell from the sky, sank its claws into the poor rabbit's neck. The bunny didn't even have time to make a sound. In the next instant the predator and its defenceless victim had risen and disappeared into the reddish clouds.

The tinkerer's lips formed a thin line. He definitely hadn't seen that coming. He took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts of the rabbit aside, walking faster than before down the path. The apartment building finally came into view after a few minutes, lay grey and partly sunken in the deserted main street next to the closed subway station. This should have been renovated for five years now. To date there has not yet been a handshake to make the place alive again and it would probably remain so for a long time to come. Edward rummaged around in the dark green jacket for a key, then sighed and touched his forehead. The Riddler kept forgetting that the building was actually not habitable and that there was no way to lock it. Overnight, the two villains secured the entrance with some loose wooden beams that they had found when moving in. The material had been lying around wildly in the stairwell. The inventor pushed open the smeared door and slipped into the rotten corridor. If he were in this place for the first time, chills would certainly run down his spine. In addition to the strong smell of mould and wet wallpaper, a growing smell of rotting carcass stung his nose. At some point they had to find decent accommodation - not such a shithole. The black-haired man climbed the groaning wood, trying not to touch the totally destroyed railing. This was peppered with protruding splinters and the crusted blood residue along the shabby material clearly indicated that it was not only he who regularly injured himself when climbing stairs. Why Jonathan had insisted on moving to the top floor of all things remained a mystery to the man. Well, it was only three floors, but this decision still struck him as more than strange. It had cost him a lot of energy to carry all his electronics upstairs and then repair the missing cables piece by piece to ensure a functioning power supply in the apartment. On the first floor the work would certainly have been done in a few hours. Not in three bloody weeks. The tinkerer went to the musty wooden door to their realm and lingered on the threshold for a moment. Somehow he felt uncomfortable. In addition, the unpleasant tug in his stomach was to be interpreted as an unmistakable warning. Edward finally shrugged and pushed the handle down. If his partner was still in a bad mood, he could escape from the building at any time. Hopefully.

The black-haired man stepped into the long hallway, looked into the all-engulfing darkness. The brown-haired man had a terrible habit of turning off lights when there was no obvious reason to keep them glowing at night. Even the mention that they wouldn't pay any electricity anyway and that nobody would care because no soul lived in the immediate vicinity didn't help to change the older man's apparently final decision. So the Riddler had to live with the lurking darkness in the apartment. This had been a major change for him. Since he almost only worked at night anyway, the light was on permanently in his former hiding place and at least provided some warmth in the littered rooms. The inventor was completely overwhelmed with keeping order. There were just more important things to do and even when he got to the point where he decided to clean up a thousand other things got in his way. Absolutely pointless to try on his own. Fortunately, the firm partnership with Jonathan brought a clean instance into his chaotic life. Even if, during their weekly cleaning of his room, he had to keep listening to how it was possible that he hadn't suffocated in his own rubbish and still found something despite the mess. A small beam of light signalled to the man that the former psychiatrist was probably waiting in the living room. He crept cautiously towards the door, peeking in hesitantly. The Master of Fear sat patiently at the oblong dining table, fingers folded. He barely moved, than suddenly spoke coolly into the room: "Edward. I expected you about ten minutes earlier. Please forgive me, but I'm afraid the meal is already cold or is well on its way to cooling down completely. Come sit with me. You must be hungry after your long walk.” The Riddler froze instantly. Something was horrible wrong here. He felt his breath quicken and the walls began to get closer. Could the black-haired man have inhaled the hated fear toxin when entering the apartment? No, it wasn't possible. Jonathan was still researching a new mixture that didn't smell like death and ruin. The tinkerer slowly released himself from the rigidity and moved carefully to the table, let himself be lowered directly into the chair. A look at the plate revealed that the other had taken the trouble to serve him his favourite food. Steak with herb butter, fried potatoes and a mixture of vegetables. The man looked up slowly, studied at the otherwise usually frozen face of the older man. Jonathan smiled a little, the grey eyes twitched slightly to the side. Even though the former psychiatrist could no longer see him, Edward felt he was being watched and, above all, analysed. What the fucking hell was going on in the head of the blind man? The Master of Fear carefully took the cutlery in his hands and raised his voice, which was far too calm, again: "Don't you want anything to eat, Edward?"

The addressed swallowed a heavy lump in his throat. With trembling fingers he gripped the fork, then dropped the knife of all things on the floor while trying to hold it. Was he really that clumsy today? The Riddler picked up the cutlery and cut into the meat, watching the slightly red juice pouring out. It was grilled to the point. He started to eat, closed his eyes at the pleasant taste in his mouth. To his amazement, it wasn't quite cold yet, even if he would have preferred it to be warmer. The wine seemed to have been chosen to go with the meal and inadvertently made him smile. Edward was never averse to a fine meal. A low laugh instantly ruined the smile. The black-haired man looked up in surprise, the opals getting bigger with every passing second. He could see the Master of Fear, but something was squeezing out of the thin man's head. The loud crack of the breaking skull sounded and dark blood pressed through the pale skin, ran unhindered onto the plate beneath him. Jonathan tilted his head, gave a barely visible smile and asked inappropriately calmly: "Is something wrong, my dear?" The Riddler stumbled to his feet, knocked the chair over in this action and couldn't look away any more. Fingers dug out of the forehead of the former psychiatrist, cupped the flesh with their bloody fingernails. Gradually the hands opened the head wider, revealing the coils of the brain. The brown-haired man's face was now so covered with blood that he was practically no longer recognizable. Edward held his breath. An all-too-familiar face rose slowly from the pulsing flesh, the visage twisted into a menacing grin. The inventor muttered, almost confused: “No, that can't be. That must not be. No no no! You're not real! ”Jonathan looked down slightly, the smile on his lips widening. He replied calmly: “What is it, Edward? Do you already see ghosts or is the poison in your food finally working on your weak and simple mind?” The tinkerer took a step back with each movement of the new figure, and finally hit the icy wall. He was only breathing jerkily. The extremely loud voice of his father echoed through the living room: “What have you done again, you useless son of a cheap whore? Can't you do something right at least once in your miserable life! I can not believe it! You are so pathetic, Edward. Should I drag your hair through the apartment again so that you finally understand that you are no more valuable than the dirty rag in the kitchen with which your ungodly mother wipes the floor?"

The black-haired man immediately slumped, his hands pressed convulsively on his ears. The next moment something caught his wrists, pulled them roughly from the auricles. Again he heard the shabby voice of his father: “Don't you dare to withdraw from me, you disgrace of humanity! I'm far from done with you. Actually, you are normally not worth my precious time, but if I only see your ugly face I get fucking angry. Such an immense waste of my precious genetic material. It's a shame!” The addressee twitched under an upcoming panic attack. Cold sweat ran from his body and made him shiver. He whispered: “Please. I can't help it, father. Please ... ""Please what?", the figure in front of him shouted gruffly in his ear, pressing his forehead brutally against the wall. Another voice, unexpectedly melodic, came through the room. The tinkerer had difficulty assigning her to any person, even if she sounded strangely familiar: "What do you see now, Edward. Your father, probably. Of course, that doesn't surprise me, if we collect all the little details in your medical history.” In the same breath, the walls suddenly moved around him and the floor began to shake. To his horror, other figures climbed out of the solid materials. A cluster of people gathered around him and his father, giving him no more opportunity to escape. He could hear the faceless figures whispering as they moved closer and closer to him. His begetter growled loudly, his voice becoming more distorted with every minute: “I should beat you up on the spot, you worthless piece of shit! Do you actually know how much effort I went to raise you and what it was all for? Just so you can drag my name into the dirt! ”A heavy punch hit his stomach, causing the Riddler to drop to his knees. He coughed heavily and held his aching stomach, writhing under the strong pull. A few fingers on his chin forced him to look up. Edward stared breathlessly into his father's eyes, unable to move. Anxiety. Panic. Despair.

The older one spat in his face and hit his son's right cheek very hard.. Edward slumped to one side, lay trembling on the dusty floor. The crowd around him burst out laughing and pointing their fingers at him, some starting to applaud. “Please father,” the black-haired man breathed hoarsely, “please don't. I can't do it any more, father. Please. I just simply can't. I can't do this any more. Please...” “Shut the fuck up, you miserable failure of life!” This statement was followed by a strong kick on his chest, then another. Again and again the man kicked the tinkerer, spat out hateful insults at his own son. There was an increased, loud cracking sound and the extreme pain left no doubt that his father was breaking his ribs one after the other with brute force. The second, calm voice reached his ears again: “Hmm. I assume he is hitting you right now, right? Regrettable. Really unfortunate. Such a family tragedy with a brutal, almost barbaric alcoholic and an overwhelmed mother who cannot do more than finance his endless consumption with an unknown number of poorly paid side jobs. She probably never had time for you, did she?” His father suddenly stopped stepping on him. Edward drew his legs up slowly and put his face on his knees, crying completely abandoned in his paralysing helplessness. He didn't even notice that the figures around him were slowly disappearing into thin air and that the steady ticking of the cuckoo clock was the only sound left in the living room. Jonathan was still sitting at the dining table, gulping down the last piece of the steak. He spoke softly: “Should you decide to attack me personally again, I will give you a higher dose of poison. That should be enough as a first lesson today.” Edward clawed his black hair, trembling lost on the floorboards. After a while, the former psychiatrist walked past him and locked the door behind him, just leaving the Riddler in that pitiful position.


End file.
